Laissez le Bon Temps Rouler
by Wandering Rusalka
Summary: Piles of flesh are being left in front of the New Orleans Police Department. With no leads, useless DNA, and only one identified victim, the police are desperate for help. The BAU didn't failed them last time, but this might be the perfect crime.
1. Chapter 1

**Bayou Petit Caillou, Louisiana **

**2:30 pm**

"Ambroise! I am goin' to da _magasin_. Do you wanna come wit' me?"

"Nah! Dey jus' make fun of me."

"Alright. Slow the tv, though. I'm takin' da truck and Gator!"

"Bye, Mimi!"

Milou smiled briefly, before it faded again and she stepped out of the house onto the thin rope bridge that led to the nearest plot of solid land with their old beat-up truck. They were far enough out that they had to venture in for supplies now and then. Mostly, she and her brother lived off the land, though. She _loved_ Ambroise, never let anyone make fun of him in school, so she refused to let anyone do so now. She watched out for him and he hunted for her. There was plenty of food to find in the swap and their father had made sure to teach them.

_Thank you, Daddy. I promise no one will hurt us again._

Gator, a purebred Catahoula hound, crept up out of the water and shook furiously to dry himself. Milou's nose wrinkled a little.

"_Arrête sa, _Gator, ya idiot, c'mon," she said, before making a short, high-pitched yip like a fox.

It made the big dog's tail wag furiously and he hopped into the passenger seat like it was his throne. She followed and slammed the door.

Gator whined.

"Don' look at me like dat, dog. You'd tink takin' down dat old gator when you were two, dat you'd be some kinda brave." A pothole made both of them almost knock their heads against the ceiling.

She knew why it was that Gator was uneasy, though. Even _she_ could smell the blood she hadn't been able to wash away. The humidity made it reek.

"_Sa me fait de la pain_, I'll make Ambroise clean nex' time."

**Cocodrie, Louisiana**

**3:00 PM**

"Why, Miss Milou! It been a month already?"

She laughed. "No, not quite. Ambroise is _still_ growing! We need new supplies for his hearty appetite and material so I can let ou' his clothes."

Madame just smiled gently. "Ya give dat boy a hug fer me, ya hear? It a shame he won' come no more. We miss spoilin' him."

Milou smiled more, her blue eyes actually warming. "Yeah, he misses ya, too. I will try harder nex' time. He'll have to, to try on boots."

"You are lovely, Milou, as always."

"No," she answered, voice suddenly cold. "I'm not. Not anymore."

She walked away, Gator staying to bed for scraps. Madame watched the twenty-year-old go, pity in her eyes. The locals knew how she'd rushed into the burning houses after Katrina to rescue anyone trapped inside. No one had been able to stop her and someone had gone to fetch Ambroise to get him to hold her back. By that time, Milou was trapped inside with no one willing to get her. No one, but Ambroise. Poor, mentally challenged Ambroise. Madame Lafayette wasn't surprised the two siblings never really forgave the town. The locals gave discounts out of guilt, but no one really blamed them. Ambroise certainly never forgave them.

Milou rubbed absently at her arm, hating how uneven and rough the texture was. The skin grafts never grew back smooth. She'd _never_ be pretty again. Ever. No man would look at her again without flinching. Only Ambroise could do that. Only Ambroise loved her.

"Only Ambroise…"

Eyes hard, she stormed into the store she'd come to town for.

She and Ambroise were going to New Orleans tomorrow.

**French Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana**

**1:14 AM**

Aimee glanced around the bar, nodding her head a little to what Britney, her best friend, was saying. Her foot absently tapped the beat in the air; for once her friend actually picked a good place to go for a break from school. New Orleans was full of raw, sexual energy and Aimee was smitten everytime some local opened his mouth. Only Britney, still not quite over her football-captain ex-boyfriend, kept her from going on the prowl.

Finally, she had enough.

"C'mon, Brit, _live_ a little," she teased, interrupting her companion mid-complaint. "David is miles away and we've got all these sexy men to pary with. Fuck him and _play_!"

Britney shot her a glare from behind her stylishly kinked blonde hair. "What sexy men are you talking about?" she snapped, annoyed with her friend for not letting her brood. She hadn't planned for David to dump her before this trip!

"Tch." Aimee rolled her eyes and looked back at the pulsating throng of bodies as it swayed to a sexually charged beat. She wanted to escape her party-pooper friend and join in so bad.

As if in answer to her prayers, a lean, muscular figure made its way over to her. Her eyes traced the valleys made by the muscles revealed by the barely buttoned shirt. Even in the dark club, she could tell the man's skin was a healthy sun-kissed brown. Her eyes slowly slid upwards to find a pair of deep chocolate eyes peering at her from under black bangs that fell haphazardly into the Cajun angel's face. His eyes burned with something like untapped passion, and Aimee felt a throb of pleasure go through her.

_Thank you, Jesus!_

Silent, the gorgeous guy held out a large, strong hand for hers, and helped her up from the stool. He then brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. Her heart fluttered.

Sending Britney a triumphant grin, she allowed him to pull her out on the dance floor. It must be her lucky night!

"My name's Aimee!" she shouted over the music.

The stranger just gave her an indulging smile with perfect teeth, but said nothing. Instead, he stopped in the middle of the floor and pulled her flush against his warm, hard body. She flirtatiously arched her back like a cat, pushing her chest up and towards him a little as she tilted her head back. She missed his gaze straying to the exit longingly, and his dark gaze back on her again when she straightened.

"Hey, what's your name?" she asked.

His response was to slowly grind himself against her, pelvis to pelvis with his knee pressed between her legs just enough that he could feel her moist hidden places rubbing against the top of his jeans. More importantly, Aimee could feel it, too. She moaned in spite of herself and forgot to ask him how anything earlier.

Her arms snaked around his neck to pull him down, and if he had bent without a sound. She pressed her lips hungrily against hers.

From the bar, Britney watched in both disgust and dismay. The boy was _fine_, and coming to New Orleans was _her_ idea. Besides, she was the one just got dumped! Why hadn't he come to _her_? Aimee was slutty enough she got any guy, and almost every guy, that she wanted.

As she watched, the mystery man beckoned her over with the wiggle of his finger. Britney wasn't sure if it was that, or the fact his smoldering gaze was on her even though his lips were captured by Aimee's. _See? She's not that much of a catch if he wants _me_ while he's with her,_ she told herself, pushing off the bar with a smirk and heading over.

Aimee blinked a little, but dismissed it. No attachments sex meant she was perfectly fine with sharing. Besides, Britney and herself would give the sexy stranger a night to remember, no doubt about it!

**French Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana**

**5:30 AM**

Detective Benoit stood outside the New Orleans Police Department, staring down at the lump of flayed flesh in disgusted dismay. It was much too early in the morning for this type of business; he hadn't even had his donuts and coffee yet! Dieu_, this is getting old_, he thought, wearily rubbing his eyes.

What was this, the tenth one? And they never did find the bodies, either. The killer was smart enough to let the swamp be nature's own clean-up crew. Unless the DNA was already in the system, no one could identify the victims. There were that many families wondering where their daughters had gone. He hated it.

Rubbing at his eyes, he pulled out his cellphone and dialed an old friend.

"Hey, Will, it's Benoit. Do you still have dat number of da FBI _fille_ you was datin'?" He waited, pulling out the cliché notepad and pen. "_Merci, mais_ yeah, we got a new one, _pais de bêtises_."

He tucked the pen away and sighed. "I gotta call dis in. _Au revoir_."

After he hung up, he stepped up the first few stairs leading into the police headquarters. The phone would be practically glued to his ear all day, he knew it already.

First things first, though. He needed to call the forensics guys to process the "scene" and clean it up before anyone called the news networks. He wanted as many details out of the press as possible, as there really weren't many details to work with.

Then he would call that FBI woman.

* * *

Translation of Cajun French:

_laissez le bon temps rouler - _let the good times roll  
_magasin_ - store  
_Arrête sa_ - stop it  
_Sa me fait de la pain_ - I'm sorry  
_Dieu _- God  
_fille_ - girl  
_merci_ - thanks  
_mais yeah_ - but yes  
_pais de bêtises_ - no joking  
_au revoir_ - goodbye

**Disclaimer:**Louisiana and it's respective cities/towns belong to itself. _Criminal Minds_ and it's characters belong to CBS and it's affliates.


	2. Chapter 2

**BAU Headquarters, Quantico, Virginia**

**7:05AM**

JJ wasn't entirely sure she was happy about will giving her number to old buddies of his, but then again this _was_ a bizarre case. With potentially ten victims and _no_ leads at all, the New Orleans Police Department could use all the help it could get. She just wasn't sure they had much of a case. No _real_ body, no original crime scene, only one identified victim, and the only DNA available was useless.

"This is all that remains of Rebecca Crowley, age 20, resident of California," JJ said once everyone was assembled, excluding tech analyst Penelope Garcia. She'd already given her data so she wouldn't have to see the pictures.

With a click, the photo appeared of a mound of skin that had been removed in flakes and strips, except for a grotesque rendition of the death mask. The person had pulled the skin of the face off in its entirety, scalp included, like a Halloween mask.

"How did they ID her?" Hotch asked. "It says no one else has been identified."

"Her mother identified the face they made out of her leftover skin," she answered.

"No one knows the girls are missing until the skin shows up," Reid said, looking through the case file. "There are no suspects and they can't even be sure the unsub even kills in New Orleans, he could just dump there."

"Do they want us to visit every perish looking for him?" Prentiss asked incredulously.

JJ just shrugged helplessly and looked at Hotch, who was scowling. "Hotch…_ten_ women are already dead!"

"Alright, we'll go. Perhaps Garcia will be able to help us. An artist rendering of any facial flesh might help, too. And Garcia can narrow the list of missing women."

"These probably aren't locals, or even Louisiana residents," Morgan agreed. "The only one identified wasn't."

"Does the unsub know that? Is he purposely looking for girls that are tourists?" Reid wondered, frowning in thought.

His mind was full of facts and observations, but he did not like knowing so little. It was like in high school; although he knew so much, socially he knew nothing at all. It did him little good then, now it might get some innocent girls killed.

"He probably does. He's smart enough to kill ten girls with only one identification," Rossi answered.

They fell silent in thought, while JJ waited quietly. She glanced mostly between Hotchner and Rossi, knowing that although Hotch was the section chief, and would make the decisions, Rossi might be the one who hinted what they were going to do first. She hoped they took the case. As a mother now herself, she couldn't imagine having _no_ idea if her son was dead or alive. Yet nine mothers were wondering that very question.

"Wheels lift in an hour," Hotchner finally said. "Morgan, go talk to Garcia."

Morgan nodded, walking out of the conference room. He was happy to, because he knew their tech analyst would need some attention to keep her mind off the grizzly photos.

"Hey, baby girl," he said lightly as he walked into the room that was every computer geek's heaven.

Wall to wall, every surface was covered in monitors. The desktops all had keyboards on them. Morgan shook his head, relieved not to be cooped up in the dark room all day, every day. He did not envy Garcia's job at _all_.

The chubby blonde swirled in her chair and smiled.

"Hello, tall, dark, and drop dead gorgeous," she teased with a happy smile. "How may _I_ help you?"

Morgan smiled. "You can find the identities of those girls, for one. We should be having a sculptor coming, but can you narrow down the missing girls? Any way possible?"

Garcia's eyebrows lifted. "Do you know _how_ many are reported missing?"

"Reid could give you the right stats," Morgan grumbled. "Still, you could work a little magic. Narrow it so the victims resemble the one girl they've managed to ID. You know, things like that. Nine families still don't know whether their child is alive or dead."

That sobered her and the amusement faded from her face. "Yeah, I'll try my hardest. We'll get them home safe."

**Bayou Petit Caillou, Louisiana**

**8:24AM**

The music was insulated by the barn. Not that anyone could hear anything way out in the bayou. The heat was already becoming oppressive. No birds bothered to sing.

Ambroise glanced in on his still slumbering sister who had driven the whole way back from New Orleans the night before. He would have done it if he could, but there was no way he could have passed any tests to get the permit, let alone the license. He was too damn stupid!

"Amb…is that you?"

Stepping back, he smiled sheepishly at his sister. "Uh, yes'm."

"What time is it?"

"'Bout 8:30," he said, fidgeting.

Milou stretched a little and slid out of bed. All she was wearing was a small t-shirt and panties. Ambroise blushed faintly, but only averted his eyes when she peeled off the shirt and turned towards her closet. He peeked at her back, though, only to feel the familiar pang of sorrow and fury.

The scars from the burns and subsequent skin grafts were still puckered and red, despite a couple years. He knew that her doctor recommended special lotions that his sister used faithfully. She treated her flawed, new skin obsessively well. She took care of him and the house just as carefully, always triple-checking gas and outlets, unplugging everything. She did not allow candles, except small ones on his birthday cakes. He was alright with _that_, because the scents made his head hurt.

"How are da pets doin'?" Milou asked, glancing over at him as she pulled on a pair of jeans. "Did you put them somewhere nice?"

He nodded with a smile. "Made sure dey're in da cage and I took 'em breakfast."

"Thanks," she said.

She paused to give him a hug and press a kiss to his cheek. He gently returned the affection, happy that she was not cranky. Sometimes she wanted to get started at the earliest possible time, others she made the girl wait.

They never took _two_ before.

"Mimi, uh…" Ambroise scratched his side nervously. "Why'd we take both?"

She paused, before giving him a smile. "We couldn' get her to leave after ya got dem bot' interested. It's fine, Amb, don't worry. Ya fave can go first or last, ya choice."

"Um…I don' gotta help, right?" he asked hopefully. "Ya know I hate da screams."

"No, ya don' gotta help past da prepping," she promised. "And after. Gator could smell stuff on da truck. You can do dat, right?"

He nodded with a shrug. "I can deliver dem, too, if ya want? Like last time."

Milou shrugged as well, pulling her hair back into a high ponytail, and then into a messy bun. It would get it out of her way when she worked.

Ambroise watched her walk down the hall and disappear down the stairs. There wasn't anything for him to do, because she wouldn't want food.

She never wanted food, even when she didn't have this weird hobby to work on. Sometimes he had to catch her and _make_ her eat, otherwise she ended up passing out. He would run into town, literally on foot, because he had no way to take her, and fetch the doctor. It was embarrassing because they thought he couldn't take care of her.

And they were right.

He followed her down to the first floor where she was kneeling on the carpet looking over all the skin care products. Almost the entire floor was covered in bottles and flasks. Ambroise thought it was a bit excessive, since some were not even for her skin type. However, he did not want to _upset_ his sister, so he never mentioned his thoughts. Most of the time he quickly forgot it anyway.

"Hey, Mimi? Are ya gonna eat before ya go out dhere? Ya really should," he said, hoping for once to convince her to listen.

She looked up at him. "Hm? Yeah, I suppose. What ya got in mind? We low on crawfish?"

"Nuh uh, we got plenty. Do ya want some sausage, t'ough? Made it fer da pets," he said.

"Hmm…dat sounds good. We'll have biscuits, too. Ya get da sausage and I'll work on da biscuits, 'kay?" Milou smiled, moving into the mudroom they used for a pantry, too.

She opened the freezer and pulled out some biscuit dough as well as a brown paper wrapped package. The boys would be hungry, but that would have to wait for the meat to thaw.

Humming softly, she took the biscuits back into the kitchen and put a few on the tray. Breakfast would be nice. It would give her the energy for the daily chores.

**French Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana**

**9:00 AM**

After the plane ride, Dr. Spencer Reid was ready to get to work. When not continuing over the case, Derek Morgan had been unable to keep from swapping Mardi Gras stories. It might have been a bit more understandable the _first_ case in New Orleans, but it was old now.

"Y'all are just in time. Da lab results should be back on something we found on skin soon," a voice drawled.

Reid looked up to see a man in his mid-thirties of average build walking towards Hotch. Their unit leader reached out to grimly shake hands.

"This is Detective Benoit," he introduced the man after briefly conversing. "I believe you spoke to Agent Jareau on the phone?"

The detective nodded, bobbing his head a little to JJ. "Sorry for bein' so direct, ma'am, but it's getting' ridiculous down here and y'all are our last hope."

Reid could understand. The gory, trademark of this killer left even the best forensics experts stumped. Only _one_ family had a margin of consolation. The police frustration only made tensions worse in an already emotionally charged city.

"Apart from the identity of Rebecca Crowley, what have your forensics experts gathered?" David Rossi asked as the team followed the detective inside.

"Only that Rebecca was alive when her face was removed." His voice was cold and hard.

Reid felt his stomach drop. It was good thing Garcia wasn't there. The free-spirit still wasn't able to handle the gory images and details.

"You all can set up in here."

The conference room was like a hundred before it, empty except for photos of the remains and reports from medical experts. The team would probably rearrange the info a little, but otherwise the things in that room were all they had. It really wasn't much.

"Hotch, how're we going to do this? Whoever this un-sub is, he's really good at leaving no trace," Morgan asked.

"Rebecca Crowley is the only identified victim we have," Emily Prentiss stated, gazing at the images. "That's not much to build a profile off of."

"Morgan, call Garcia. See what she's found out and have her send any info here," Garcia said.

Derek nodded and stepped away to call her. Reid was studying the first pictures taken of the lumps of flesh as they were found piled outside that very building.

It was a neat pile, for such a gory, brutal crime. Almost as if the un-sub wanted to keep it orderly. That didn't fit with the taunting, nonchalant disposal at all. It puzzled him, and he was always determined to solve puzzles.

He decided not to bring it up until he figured out more. For now, Garcia's research would be the best lead they had.

**BAU Headquarters, Quantico, Virginia**

**10:30 AM**

"You have reached the goddess of the internet, please give proper tribute before making your request," Penelope Garcia quipped into the phone quite cheerfully.

There was a laugh. _"Hey, baby girl_," Derek's voice drifted through the line. _You know I'm good for all my tributes, so I need you to grant my request now."_

"Fine, but this one had _better_ be good," she retorted with a pretend pout.

"_Oh, it will be,"_ he promised. "_We've got a couple more criteria for that missing persons' search. On top of the women fitting Crowley's general description, I need you to start from the a bit before the first remains were discovered, until now. Try to keep it centralized to New Orleans, too."_

Garcia paused in typing out the code to find what he wanted. "Okay, hun, y ou know that's still going to be hundreds, right?"

He sighed. _"Yes, I do, but it's the best shot we've got. Send the stuff here, alright?"_

"Alright…" She wasn't thrilled. "You owe me some chocolaty goodness, and I don't mean candy."

He chuckled. _"We'll see. Talk to you later, and thanks, baby girl."_

She hit the button and went to work. Sure, being in a tiny, dark room lit by computer screens all day wasn't exactly glamorous. Who else got to say that between computer games, they stopped the country's worst bad guys, saving lives in the process? _Exactly._

There might not be too many perks with the job, the few it had were pretty fantastic.


End file.
